Benson stood in the crowded hall, the pressure of the Overseer's cold gaze pressing down on him. The tablet sat before him, waiting. His fingers brushed against the surface, the coolness of it stark against his clammy skin.
He didn't feel anything at first. No hum. No spark of energy. Nothing. His pulse quickened, but he forced himself to stay calm.
Then, the tablet flickered to life. A low buzz filled the room as green light spread across the surface. Benson's heart skipped, and for a moment, he wondered if he had received something more.
The air around him grew heavier, thick like a weight pressing down. Benson blinked, his breath catching in his chest.
Something was wrong.
His heartbeat quickened, but it wasn't just nerves. The air felt tighter, as if something unseen was pulling it in. He turned his head, his eyes searching, but nothing had changed. No one moved. No one even blinked.
Then, without warning, a shadow stretched across the floor behind him, tall and strange. Benson's body froze. His instincts told him to move, but his legs wouldn't listen.
The shadow behind Benson was massive, stretching unnaturally across the ground. It twisted and shifted, like something ancient and dangerous, formless and dark.
The shape was impossible to comprehend, but one thing stood out—its mouth. A wide, gaping maw, bigger than any human could imagine, swallowing the light around it.
The blackness of it seemed to absorb everything, and at the center of its head, an eye, vertical and cold, gleamed faintly
The mouth was larger than Benson, a gaping hole that swallowed the light around it, turning the space darker. The air hummed with a low, unsettling noise that made Benson's stomach churn.
A cold shiver ran up his spine. He felt something brush against the back of his neck—cold, unnatural. The world around him slowed. He felt, more than saw, the presence looming just behind him.
It wasn't until the Overseer shifted her shoulders that Benson snapped back to reality. The heavy feeling in the air faded, but the unease lingered.
Benson's fingers were still on the tablet, but the strange moment passed as quickly as it had come. He let out a breath, still unsure of what had just happened. What was that?
The Overseer's eyes flicked toward him, but her face gave nothing away. The room returned to its usual stillness.
[System Activated.]
[Rank: D-Class.]
Benson exhaled, feeling his shoulders drop in resignation. D-Class. It wasn't great. But it wasn't the worst either. Still, there was no joy in the announcement. The Overseer's cold stare didn't waver.
"D-Class. Mediocre." Her voice was a harsh, her tone cutting through the silence like a knife.
The crowd shifted uneasily, some muttering among themselves, others giving him pitying looks. Benson clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to shrink away. He wasn't worthless. Not yet.
But just as he took a step back, his thoughts momentarily distracted by the shame gnawing at him, a large man suddenly shoved past him.
"Watch it, bitchboy," the man growled, his voice full of contempt.
Benson's stomach churned. He didn't flinch, but his body tensed. The hostility from the others was palpable. He could feel it—sharp, cold. The judgment in their eyes was clear.
And then, as he straightened, he noticed something worse. A group of people standing off to the side, their eyes locked on him. Their glares were cold, full of disgust.
They didn't just dislike him. They hated him.
It was clear they were waiting for something—waiting for him to mess up. His heart thudded in his chest. They weren't just looking at him; they were looking through him.
I can't back down.
A strange, hollow feeling began to settle in Benson's stomach. I need to prove them wrong.
Greed stirred in the back of his mind. They're weak. They'll fall.
The Overseer's voice broke the tension.
"The evaluations are done," she said, her tone still as cold as ever. "Tomorrow, we will hold qualifying matches."
The words hit like a punch. A match. The fight for survival. He could feel his pulse hammering in his chest. If I lose, I die. The stakes were that simple.
Benson's stomach twisted. A match. One-on-one. The pressure was already unbearable, and they hadn't even started.
The Overseer's eyes swept across the room, her gaze chilling.
"Those who lose will be executed. No exceptions. Prove your worth or be culled."
A gasp went through the crowd, but Benson stood there, frozen. The weight of her words hit him hard. The air felt thick with tension. This was no game. If he failed, if he faltered, it was over.
But he couldn't think about that. Not now.
The Overseer didn't stay long. She turned to leave, but before she could go, one masked guard approached. He was tall and menacing, and his mask covered most of his face. The man leaned in close to the Overseer and whispered something to her.
Benson caught a faint flicker of movement—something in the Overseer's eyes as he spoke. But the words? They were too quiet for him to hear. His stomach dropped. What was that?
The Overseer didn't react at first, but then she gave a small nod. She didn't speak to the guard; she didn't need to. The man stepped back into the shadows, and the Overseer continued walking, her attention now solely on the crowd.
For a moment, Benson felt his heart skip a beat. What did he say?
His mind raced with the possibilities. But before he could think any further, the Overseer was gone, and the crowd began to disperse.
Benson stayed where he was, eyes trained on the space where the guard had stood. I have to be ready. His body still hummed with Greed, but now, it was a dull ache. It wasn't enough to fight this fight.
He could feel eyes on him again. The same people from earlier. They were still watching him, whispering among themselves.
"You're gonna die tomorrow," one of them sneered, his voice dripping with malice.
Benson didn't respond. His head spun with everything that had happened, but the words didn't reach him. He couldn't fight them—not now. Not yet.
Instead, he walked away, trying to avoid the gazes following him. His thoughts were a whirl of uncertainty and fear. This is bad. He didn't know how to survive here. Not yet.
"Better start praying. You're dead tomorrow."
The group chuckled darkly, and Benson's stomach dropped.
But then his eyes flicked over them. The two people at the center of the group, the ones laughing the loudest—they had already been tested. He knew this because their class rank was visible on the tablet that had been shown to everyone.
Both of them were C-class.
Benson's heart sank even further. C-class. That was leagues above him. These people weren't just random thugs trying to survive—they were already ahead. And worse, they knew it. The looks they gave him, the sneers, were all laced with that arrogance that came from knowing you had power others didn't.
As the laughter echoed around him, Benson realized just how out of place he was.
I'm so fucked.
He didn't know how to survive this. He didn't know what was waiting for him in the qualifying match tomorrow. But he knew one thing for sure:
If he didn't find a way to fight back, he wouldn't make it.
"I'm fucked," he breathed out.